From: Nynaeve Date: 16 Dec 1999 17:38:39 -0800 Subject: NEW: The Sadness of the World 3: The Silence of Astounded Souls (1/1) by Nynaeve From: "Nynaeve" TITLE: The Sadness of the World 3: The Silence of Astounded Souls (1/1) AUTHOR: Nynaeve E-MAIL: scully@on-net.net RATING: G CATEGORY: V, post ep KEYWORDS: MSR, Scully angst SPOILERS: "Amor Fati" mostly, tiny ones for Diana eps and abduction arc SUMARY: Scully's POV DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter... yadda, yadda, yadda ... 1013 ... blah, blah, blah. Bottom line: not mine. DEDICATION: A and J. Laura, Lynn, Nadine, too. Thanks for reading and responding so kindly. FEEDBACK: Yup. Love it. Keep it all in little folders, specifically marked for each story. Respond to all of it too. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know please where it's going so I can visit. Spookys - feel free to archive. NOTES: This is the third in a cycle of stories based on "Amor Fati"; the first two can be found at my web site, under Post Episode fiction. http://members.tripod.com/NynaeveSedai/NynaeveSedai.html or e-mail me. The Sadness of the World 3: The Silence of Astounded Souls "Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls." ---Sylvia Plath, from ""Crossing the Water" (1962) He laid his hand against my sternum and asked if I had looked for you there, in my heart he meant. I had no answer for him. I wanted it to seem like nonsense, what he'd said to me. Does everyone see this, Mulder? Is it so clear to one and all how deep my feelings for you run? I've managed for a long time not to see them myself, not to feel them, to hide from them each time they came tapping, gently rapping at the door to my soul. Quoth the F.B.I. agent, "Nevermore." I let him tug me down to my knees, to pray with him for your safe return. I prayed for you, for the world which according to an ancient legend, you now have the power to save. I prayed for myself, doubting all the while it mattered. I don't remember how I prayed or for how long. I only remember the feel of his old, age-seamed hand clasping mine, warming it, comforting me wordlessly, encouraging me. Still, for all his efforts, I saw ahead only long years, while I struggled alone to fulfill our quest. Misery and despair, the inescapable sense of helplessness, overwhelmed me, carried me off to another place. I imagined finding you. Only I found not the man I know, but one seduced by a smoke-wreathed vision. I found you dying, yet you, the Fox Mulder I had known, had loved, had already vanished into the haze years before. My deepest terror was given form, for not only had you abandoned me, physically, but your soul had wandered far from mine. I cursed you and called you a traitor. My once-love metamorphasized into venomous hatred and I mocked you, lying there old, helpless, dying, all by your own hand. Now I stand in a corridor, dimly lit, eerily empty, silent as those nights in Africa. I hold a card in my hand, a key that has brought me this far without challenge. What am I going to find, Mulder? I woke with a start on the floor of my living room, sunlight falling through the windows, gilding the floor around me. I blinked a few times as my eyes adjusted, as my senses registered their confusion over my body's present location. My back and head protested the unfamiliar sleeping conditions. I became aware of the tapping, a not so gentle rapping, of shoes, high heeled shoes, striding down the hall. I scrambled to my feet. Just inside the door lay an envelope. Hope matched the tempo of its renewed beat to the rhythm of my heart. The envelope contained nothing but a key card. I needed nothing else, for I knew, without a doubt I knew. The means to save you, to continue together our inevitable journey; the means to thrust aside fear, to make amends for the damage of the past year, yet to delve into the promise that lies between us. I opened the door, hoped to catch a glimpse, but she was gone. In her wake, she left hope, but also dread. It occurred to me you might be dead, that she might be doing nothing more than taunting me. It didn't matter though. I had to follow the path laid out; I had to try. The memory of Albert Hosteen's strong, tanned hand grasping mine impelled me forward. The knowledge that when I was taken, you never gave up, never stopped searching for me, pressed me into action. And a voice deep inside my heart told me I would know if you had left this world. It is a voice I've ignored too long, silenced too ruthlessly, denied too fiercely. It is usually you, Mulder, who drives like a madman, who admonishes other drivers to get out of your way, who devises in your mind fitting torments for them as they block our path. Today I drove as if I'd been possessed. I lacked any semblance of patience with the fools who dared to obstruct my path to you. As the engine raced, so did my mind. What will I find? What will I find? What has she left behind? Why? Why? Why? It's no secret that I never trusted her, that I've disliked her almost from the beginning. I found her return too convenient, her explanations too rehearsed. I was stung by the manner in which she seemed to draw you to her, extracting your trust as effortlessly as breathing. Her shadow loomed over me, calling into question, I feared, my contributions, my sacrifices, and my belief in you. The darkness she gathered around her seeped into the cracks between us, threatened to break us apart, send us falling away from one another into bleak, empty space. Through these months when she has melted into nothingness, only to return at moments of critical importance, between us she has lain like a ghost, her very existence an accusing glare that incites and whips to sharper pain the natural friction of such opposites as you and I. Her place, unclarified, in the order of your life, in the order of the X Files, made me uncertain of my own. Fear for you, belief she knew your whereabouts, impelled me to actions I would not have otherwise undertaken, gave voice to words I would not have otherwise spoken. So, now as I approach Fort Marlene, as I draw closer to an answer, I wonder ceaselessly what will I find. Did my words touch her? Did she stop to think of you, of how you have championed her, would still do so? Or has she given me this key to mock me, to present to me your body, your soul fled, your mind silent, your fierce heart still? I push open a door, into a room, dimly lit. You are here, lying unconscious. I am at your side, examining you as much as I can. Your head is bandaged, but there are no other marks on you. You breathe softly, your chest rising and falling slowly. I touch your temple, running the tops of my fingers along your skin. Slowly, gently. I crave the feel of your flesh, am restored by this small gesture. The only thing clear to me in this moment is the gravity of your condition. I have to get you away from this place. I speak to you, plead with you. There is little else I have the power to do right now. I touch your forehead, take your hand, and beg you to wake up. My breath catches. I say your name. My lips part and I start to whisper. I will tell you the secrets of my heart. I'm through hiding from myself, from you, from everyone else. It seems I wasn't very good at it anyway. I stop. As much as I want to, I can't tell you here that I love you. I want to look in your eyes, hold your hand, kiss your gorgeous mouth. I want to make you smile. I want you to tell me you love me, too. I want you to cup my face in your strong hands as you look into my eyes and sparks fly between us. I want you to slide your fingers through my hair, to hold me like you won't ever be letting go. I want to spend the hours following these words whispering endearments, sharing silly secrets, kissing, holding, marveling at the fact that through all of this, we found each other and we made a path to each other. I catch the words before they leave my lips, I save them for another time, another place. These things will happen, Mulder. I promise you that. You are not going to die without hearing me say I love you. Still, tears form in my eyes and overflow. Life was supposed to be much simpler than this. Women and men fall in love, get married, have families every day. I think of what I'm missing and realize it was never meant for me to have. I have you. You are complicated and difficult and stubborn. So am I. I want nothing else but what I have in you. A small sob breaks from my lips. I'm afraid you're going to slip away. I feel the tears slide down my cheeks. One splashes on your face. Involuntarily, the muscles in your face react. You blink, look at me briefly, groggily. I send a silent thank you to whoever might be listening. You can't hear me anymore in your mind. I'm certain whatever they've done to you took that away. I love you, Mulder. I do. Soon, when the sun is bright, and the day is ours, I will take your hand in mine and tell you. You will smile and hold me close. I promised and it's a promise I intend to keep.